by Bell Davina
Patrick must be remembering that too, because he says, ‘How’s Lemon Tart?’
‘She’s still at Maisie’s,’ I say. ‘But I miss her.’ As I say it, I realise it’s true. I miss that rabbit. I miss Gracie. And I miss this boy. ‘I miss you, too. And having you over at ours. Who do you, like … hang out with now?’
Patrick looks uncomfortable, and I feel super guilty. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head that I haven’t thought about what it would be like to be him. How I’d feel if I lost Maisie, or Lola, or Belle. Like the stars had gone out, I bet. It would be hard to find someone else to be that close with again.
‘You should come over sometime, Pudge,’ I say as we reach Belle’s gate. ‘I’ll make you waffles. Bring Cheeks.’
‘I’d like that. And hey, come find me at lunch when school’s back. I’m in the library, usually.’
I smile. ‘Reading Party?’
Patrick smiles back. ‘Deal. Hey – I saw the flyers about the clubhouse. That’s cool, what you’re doing. Let me know if I can help.’
‘Deal. You don’t know how to raise a whole heap of money, do you? Like, really fast?’
Patrick looks at me for a moment, his head on one side. ‘Soph, seriously. Isn’t that kind of obvious?’
‘Um, no?’
‘You’re you,’ he says. ‘Just bake.’
Well, DUH. Why didn’t I think of that before?
The biggest bake sale in the history of Sunnystream. It really IS obvious. Flour and sugar and milk and eggs – none of those things are expensive. I have most of the cake-decorating stuff already. I’m grinning as I open Belle’s front door. And then I remember what’s on the front page of the paper and I’m grinning even more.
In the living room, Belle and Lola are throwing Maltesers into each other’s mouths. Or trying to.
‘Oh – I thought you guys had gone home,’ says Belle, who’s already dressed.
‘Nope. I’ve got stuff for waffles. And you’ve GOT to read this headline!’ I chuck her the paper. ‘Wait, what do you mean, “you guys”?’
‘You guys as in you and Maisie,’ says Belle, catching the paper but not looking at it.
‘Isn’t she here?’ I ask. ‘She was here when I left. She was in the bathroom – the door was closed. Anyway, I was on the way home from –’
‘It’s always closed,’ Belle interrupts. ‘It just swings shut.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Well, maybe she got up early. Maybe she went to training after all.’
‘Why would she do that?’ says Belle, sounding a little worried. ‘She said she was going to stay and help out at the clubhouse. We really need her today, or we won’t get it all done.’
Belle’s right – Maisie is the only one of us who can balance high enough on the ladder to paint the top half of the walls. If we can even get the money for the paint in time. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’
‘Did she leave a note?’ asks Belle.
‘Not that I saw,’ I say. ‘I’ll check.’
‘And then we can have waffles, right?’ says Lola as I go back up to the bedroom and shake out our sleeping bags. That’s when I remember Gracie’s whisper. Except it wasn’t Gracie. Of course it wasn’t. It was Maisie, going out somewhere.
And I bet I know where.
‘I think she’s gone to the clubhouse to do some balance work,’ I tell the others. ‘I think I heard her leave earlier. Shall we take her some waffles?’
‘We don’t have a waffle iron,’ Belle says.
Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?
Lola looks so devastated, it’s actually funny.
‘Well, why don’t we get takeaway waffles at Sookie La La and bring them to her instead?’ Belle says.
Thirty minutes later, we’re crossing the park, going out of our minds trying not to eat the takeaway waffles before we get to Maisie. Mr Green gave them to us for free because he’s proud of our campaign. How nice is that? The cinnamon sugar smells outrageously good. Belle is balancing four milkshakes like she’s been training her whole life for this moment. Which she probably has – being prepared for a cafe job that she can do while she’s studying at uni is probably in her ten-year plan. The milkshakes don’t even have tops on them because #noplastic but she hasn’t spilled a drop. It must be weird to be so perfect all the time. I wonder if it ever gets old.
‘There!’ I say, pointing at Maisie, across the park, where she’s standing on the fence rail outside the clubhouse. She bends her knees, her arms out, and I know even from here that she’ll have her concentrating-very-hard-right-now face on, which means she’s going to do something tricky, like a flip combo. Shouldn’t she have a mat for that, though?
She flings herself into the air and does one back handspring. Then another. It’s like watching a firework arcing across the sky. I wonder, for the zillionth time, if one day I might actually be there at the Olympics, cheering her name till my voice is sore and scratchy.
Now it’s the backflip, which is basically a whole backwards somersault in the air. She launches herself off the rail. ‘Watch!’ I say. ‘This is what she’s been practising.’
Maisie flicks around so fast, it’s like she’s being fast-forwarded. Truly, it’s magical.
But at the last minute, as she lands, her feet slip.
Her stomach slams into the fence rail so hard, I swear I can hear it. We all gasp. She drops to one side and smacks into the ground. I can’t believe it. Maisie never falls.
‘MAISIE!’ we scream, breaking into the fastest sprint of our lives. ‘MAISIE.’
When we get to Maisie, she’s lying on her tummy on the ground, not moving. I have never seen her so still.
I freeze. I can’t say anything. I can’t do anything. My head starts to pound and I swallow, hard.
Belle turns Maisie onto her side and shoves her ear right up to Maisie’s mouth to hear if she’s breathing. ‘She’s alive.’ She tilts her head back, opens up her mouth. And sticks in a finger. ‘Let me just check if her airway is – ARGH! She bit me!’
‘Stop being so loud,’ Maisie mumbles.
‘OMG,’ says Lola, looking as relieved as I feel. ‘Thank the sweet –’
‘What’s your name?’ Belle asks gently as we all crowd around her. ‘Can you tell me your name?’
‘Bart Strabonsky,’ Maisie says. Then she grins, and it’s half a grimace, half a grin, but that’s when I know she’s OK. I can breathe again.
‘Oh, Maisie,’ I say. ‘I thought … I thought you …’ I shake my head.
‘You thought I was a poo emoji?’
‘Maisie, be serious. I’m trying to see if you’re concussed. How old are you?’ asks Belle.
‘How old are you?’ says Maisie, sitting up and rubbing her side.
‘Is that sore? You might have cracked a rib,’ says Belle. ‘Does it hurt when you breathe?’
‘Seriously, I’m fine,’ says Maisie, though I know her well enough to know that she’s trying not to show she’s hurting. ‘Just winded. I wanted to get this out of the way so I could definitely stay for the painting.’
‘Dude, you could have died,’ says Lola, sounding shaky. ‘That was really scary. Don’t do that again, OK?’ There are tears in her eyes, and Lola never cries. She seems so strong and so sure of everything that it’s weird to think of her being afraid.
‘We brought you waffles,’ I say, sitting down next to her. ‘With cinnamon sugar.’
‘And milkshakes,’ says Belle, pulling out the caramel one from the cardboard tray, though how she didn’t spill them when we were running is a genuine miracle.
As Maisie takes her milkshake, I notice her hands are trembling a little. ‘Guys, maybe let’s go inside,’ I suggest. ‘It’s chilly out here.’
It takes Maisie ages to stand up, but once she’s walking, she seems OK.
We sit on the (still not polished) floor of the clubhouse and suck down our (strawless) milkshakes, watching the time-lapse video of us fixing up the clubhouse on Lola’s phone
. Seeing what the clubhouse looked like at the start makes us realise how far it’s come. Everything’s there – Togsley sleeping in a corner (many times), Tally hanging upside down to sing the protest song, and all of us working SUPER hard. When it ends, my heart basically explodes with happiness and our cheers ring out like sports-teacher whistles because, truly, the acoustics in this place are amazing.
And sure, we haven’t painted it properly, and the door is STILL hanging off its hinge, and Lola just pointed out a hole in the ceiling. But we’ve still got the whole weekend, right? It’s only Friday. And maybe it’s relief that Maisie is OK, or the thought of having somewhere to go at lunch next term, or maybe – and this is going to sound cheesy – it’s because I wrote down those four words last night. Maybe it’s because of what’s in the newspaper – HANG ON! THE NEWSPAPER! ARGH!
‘Belle, did you bring that paper?’ I say. ‘You guys are NEVER going to believe what’s in it!’
She rummages in her bag and pulls out the Sunnystream Gazette.
‘SHARK TANK TO EMPTY,’ she reads. ‘Sunnystream’s giant entertainment hub and council building, The Shark Tank, has been closed indefinitely today. OMG! What?’
I grab it off her. ‘The emergency shut-down has occurred because it was discovered that the construction materials used may be poisonous. “We suspect there are toxic chemicals in the roof,” said Sunnystream building inspector, Mr Steve Morrison, “and lead in the pipes.”’
I secretly love reading out loud. Sometimes I wonder if, deep down, I’m a bit of a show-off. ‘“This type of thing can happen when the person in charge is trying to save money and brings in supplies from other countries where the rules aren’t as strict,” he went on. “It can happen when the person in charge is trying to bend the rules and hopes nobody notices. Luckily someone did and we’re just in time. These sorts of things can make people very sick.”
‘The once-in-a-lifetime Japanese pancake competition, which was to be held at the Shark Tank on Monday morning, has been cancelled.’
We all squeal and high-five – except Maisie, who doesn’t seem to want us to touch her.
‘This is the best thing to ever happen to us!’ Belle says, snatching back the paper. ‘I mean, not the dangerous chemicals thing, obviously. But now people are going to need the clubhouse even more. Where else are they going to hold all the things that were supposed to be in the hall? And they’re going to trust Mayor Magnus even less.’ But then she reads a bit more of the article and frowns.
‘What?’ asks Lola.
‘When asked whether this would halt the proposed demolition of the historic Corner Park Clubhouse, Sunnystream Mayor Mark Magnus said, “Stupid question. If you think this is going to stop me from bulldozing that dump, you have a pea for a brain.”’
Oh.
‘Does that mean he’s just going to be angrier now?’ Maisie asks quietly.
‘Probably,’ says Lola.
‘Definitely,’ says Belle.
Jeepers. Today is a real rollercoaster.
‘Is that all it says?’ I ask.
‘There’s one last bit,’ says Belle. ‘A community action group has planned a rally to protest its destruction on Monday at 10am. It is rumoured there will be a guest appearance by local celebrity YouTuber, Tally Powell.’
‘That’s us!’ Maisie and I say at exactly the same time. And then, ‘Jinx!’
‘Right,’ says Belle. ‘We need to refocus. Ideas for getting the paint money: I could tell the Eco Worriers to pick up coins on the pavements.’ She’s scribbling furiously in her notebook. ‘That’s a start. And maybe they could go over to Cloud Town and fine people who are using plastic bags. I could ask my friend Matilda if her mum –’
‘Actually,’ I begin, ‘about the fundraising, I ran into Patrick and he thought –’
‘You’re allowed to use plastic bags in Cloud Town, Belle,’ Lola interrupts. ‘And the Eco Worriers aren’t the police.’
‘I never said –’
‘Hate to break it to you,’ Lola goes on, ‘but you don’t actually make the law. Besides, we’ll need more than a couple of coins.’
As Belle crosses her arms, the wind picks up outside, and we feel it whip through the still-broken window. Maisie widens her eyes at me and I know what she’s thinking: Lola’s being snippy because the paper mentioned Tally and not her. It must be weird having a sister who’s so famous. I feel sorry for her, but part of me also wants to say, Hey, at least you have a sister.
‘What Patrick thought –’ I try to say.
‘I know that,’ Belle says to Lola. ‘We’re just brainstorming. No idea is a bad idea.’
‘And can you shut up about Matilda?’ says Lola. ‘I am so freaking sick of that girl.’
‘If you met her, you’d love her. Everybody does. She sort of reminds me of you, actually.’
That is the worst possible thing Belle could have said. If there’s one thing Lola hates, it’s being like anyone else. You know those people?
‘Umm,’ says Maisie quickly, before Lola can snap back at Belle, ‘we could have an auction for all the local businesses? The highest bidder gets to have Lola paint a mural on the side of their building.’
For an idea on the fly, I think that’s pretty impressive. I give her a sneaky thumbs-up. She rubs her side. I knew it! She actually is hurt.
‘Or we could –’ I start, yet again.
‘Nup,’ says Lola curtly, picking up her phone. ‘I don’t do those anymore.’
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘I’m over them. So much effort.’
Maisie raises her eyebrows at Lola. If anyone knows about effort, it’s her.
‘Don’t judge, Maisie!’ says Lola. ‘Sophia doesn’t do heaps of stuff anymore and you don’t hassle her.’
There’s silence.
Because she’s right.
I used to do almost as many activities as Belle. The Ukulele Ladies. Debating. Ballet. Girl Guides. Tennis. Diving. Swim Squad. I used to rush around town, different uniforms and instruments in different bags, changing on the run, a zillion reminders scribbled on my hands. I used to love craft. My hair was always full of glitter or baking flour, or was stiff with chlorine from the pool. I used to chat all the time. Like a football commentator, Gracie used to complain. People always thought I was so sunny. But now nobody knows what to say to me, and I don’t know how to talk about Gracie, but I don’t know how to not talk about her either, so being around people is stressful. I just want to hide away with my sadness, holding it close to me. This is probably going to sound weird, but the ache in my heart makes me feel as if she isn’t quite gone, and I don’t want anyone to try to take that ache away.
‘I cannot believe you just said that,’ Belle says quietly. ‘Who even are you? Soph doesn’t do those things because her twin –’
I cover my ears with my hands so I don’t have to hear that last word. I say ‘LA LA LA LA’ really loudly, my eyes squeezed tight. When I open them again, she’s saying ‘… be here if you don’t want to. No-one’s forcing you to take part.’
‘Oh sure,’ says Lola, ‘so as soon as I leave you can invite Matilda to take my place? I don’t think so.’
‘What’s Matilda even got to do with this?! You’re just jealous because she’s –’
‘Matilda, Matilda, Matilda,’ says Lola in a squeaky voice, pretending she’s Belle. ‘She’s all you ever talk about now and it’s BORING. Oh – and another thing? I bet your boyfriend is imaginary. And also? Now you’re at that school, you clearly think you’re better than us because you’re heaps more bossy, if that’s even possible. I liked you heaps better before.’
Belle looks super shocked, as if Lola has just slapped her. She doesn’t say anything, which has literally never happened before. Our group never fights. It’s one of the things that make us different. Sometimes in primary school, I could see other girls looking over at us, like they wished they could join in. We weren’t the super-popular girls or the really sporty girls or the
crazy-smart girls – we were our own combination of all those things, like a great paper bag of mixed lollies you get from the corner shop, and we never, ever argued. Not like this.
Belle turns to us. ‘Do you … do you guys think I’ve changed?’
Maisie looks from Lola to Belle and back again. She shrugs, like everything’s too hard, and presses both hands against her ribs, closing her eyes. It starts to rain, and the hole in the roof drips. We all ignore it, pretending we don’t see the puddle that’s forming on the floor.
‘As if you guys haven’t made new friends too,’ says Belle over the sound of the drops on the roof, more defensive now. ‘That’s what high school is for!’
I look down, feeling my cheeks heat up.
‘Of course we’ve made new friends,’ says Lola, ‘but it’s not like we’re always boasting about them because their mum’s famous or whatever.’ She slurps her spearmint milkshake loudly.
Belle takes a sharp breath, like she’s about to breathe out fire. Or give Lola a lecture. Or both. Her cheeks are as red as mine now.
‘This is stupid,’ says Maisie bluntly. ‘I don’t have time for all this drama. I’m just here because I love the clubhouse. If you’re going to be lame, I’m going back to Holiday Hell. SnapChat me if you ever make up.’
Belle shrugs. ‘Yeah, well, maybe we’re not going to make up. Maybe we’ve just grown apart.’
I can almost hear my heart snapping in two.
‘I’ve read about this,’ Belle goes on. ‘Maybe we were friends when we were younger and we’ll always have the memories, but we’ll never be as close again. Maybe we’re like … like a broken vase that can’t be put back together.’
‘You’ve read about this?’ says Lola incredulously. ‘What are you, a robot who can only learn things from the internet? Be a freaking human for once.’
‘A robot, a snob, a dictator. You seem to think I’m pretty multi-faceted, Magnolia. Well, you want to know what you are? You are a vain, self-centred, empty-headed narcissist.’
